Johnson: Pope Leo XIV is Black. Celebrate it, no matter how his family identifies
This is an opinion column.
They didn’t have a choice. My ancestors and most of their kindred didn’t have the option of choosing to identify as Black. Or to pass.
Of course, some did. Some opted out. As far back as two centuries ago, before the Civil War, they swerved out of the Black lane and chose to cruise through life as white. They were allowed to do so because of the lightness of their skin.
Their family tree may have had a branch or a few with roots as dark as the ground that covered them. But because of the myriad chemical permutations that result from the mixing and twisting of DNA in our nation, their skin was like snow. So, they could — well, it wasn’t called “identify” back then.
They could pass.
Yet they were still Black.
Pope Leo XIV, born in Chicago as Robert Francis Prevost, is Black.
He is America, an embodiment of the mixing and twisting of DNA that is who we are. More and more so each day.
The pope’s lineage was confirmed to The New York Times by Jari C. Honora, a New Orleans genealogist. He told the publication: “This discovery is just an additional reminder of how interwoven we are as Americans. I hope that it will highlight the long history of Black Catholics, both free and enslaved, in this country, which includes the Holy Father’s family.”
The pope is Black. Soon after being elected as the first U.S.-born leader of the Catholic church, Pope Leo’s older brother said the family did not identify as Black.
That is their choice, of course — a choice many mixed-race people have made for two centuries. Indeed, in the mid-19th century, before enslavement threatened to tear us apart, free people of color with less than one-eighth African ancestry (a fourth in Virginia) were legally white.
Some passed, for most, if not all, of their lives. From Reconstruction through Jim Crow — and even some still today — they enjoyed the privileges of whiteness. And avoided the persecution of being Black, the incessant indignities of being Black, the potential deadliness of being Black.
Until the first half of the last century. Until they were exposed under the one-drop rule.
Until they were unmasked. Until their Black roots were revealed.
If you missed the history class when the one-drop rule was taught it was simply this: If a single drop of Black blood coursed through your veins, you were Black. Period. No matter the whiteness of your skin.
You had no choice.
It’s also called hypodescent, when mixed-race children are automatically assigned to the ethnicity of the parent with the lower societal status, no matter the proportion of ancestry.
If one parent was Black, they were Black.
No choice. No option.
Between 1910 and the 1930s, several Southern states codified the one-drop rule into law. Indeed, in 1911, Arkansas passed Act 320, which made interracial “cohabitation” illegal and classified anyone “who has any negro blood whatever” as Negro.
They had no choice.
It became the blueprint for similar laws in other states.
That was long ago, certainly. Now, we have a choice. We may acknowledge and celebrate the myriad chemical permutations resulting from the mixing and twisting of DNA by checking one of the Crayola box of boxes on today’s census form.
We may identify as we like, by our heritage, by our culture, by our race, by our religion, by our ethnicity, as whatever we choose — as it should be. Yet we should not forget.
We should not forget those who didn’t have that choice, those who could not serve from their DNA and cruise. Those who endured. Those who died before we could choose.
Choose to identify with our roots. All of them.
Or not — as has Pope Leo XIV’s family.
However they chose, he’s still Black. As are they.
That is something to celebrate.
Let’s be better tomorrow than we are today. My column appears on AL.com, and digital editions of The Birmingham News, Huntsville Times, and Mobile Press-Register. Tell me what you think at [email protected], and follow me at twitter.com/roysj, Instagram @roysj and BlueSky.